


Ring of Gold

by elephant_eyelash



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Married Sex, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephant_eyelash/pseuds/elephant_eyelash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil and Branson fluffy pregnancy fic. 'Nuff said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ring of Gold

An uair a bhios sinn ri òrach  
Bidheadhmaid ri òrach;  
‘S nuair a bhios sinn ri maorach,  
Bidheadhmaid ri maorach.  
[When we are seeking gold,  
let us be seeking gold;  
And when we are seeking bait  
let us be seeking bait.]

An rud is fhiach a ghabhail, ‘s fhaich e iarraidh.  
[If it is worth taking, it is worth asking for.]

“The placenta is now fully formed,” She read out, Tom running small circles on the bottom of her swollen belly. “He can now suck his fingers and his toes…”

“It’s a she.” He interrupted. He looped his finger in and around her belly button, imagining the strange but familiar creature inside of her and wondering if it somehow reacted to it’s Father’s touch.

“We don’t know that.”

“No, but I can feel it.” He smiled. Up and down he traced fairytale castles on her skin as she read The Basics of Prenatal Care. Tom wasn’t like her. He didn’t have much time for preparations, didn’t worry over cot size and clothing— this was their baby and it made things, by default, wonderful. She was simultaneously both irritated and envious of his confidence, his self-assuredness.

She rolled her eyes. “The fingernails and toenails are growing…”

“Does it feel strange?” He said, mumbling into the thin fabric of her nighdress.

“What? Being pregnant?”

He nodded. In the distance of the room the fire crackled against the light dusting of rain that always seemed to cover Dublin. She put the book down and lay down beside him, her small belly touching his (a family more than ever, she thought). His eyes look expectantly up at her, waiting.

“I can’t quite explain it.” She said, her head sinking deeper into the pillow. “I feel…warm, and happy… and full.”

He smiled and drew himself closer, cupping her stomach in his hands, something he never tired of doing. She blushed a little. He was always so comfortable with her body, confident in his gestures and kisses. It always made her both frightened and exhilirated knowing how much one person wanted her so fully. And knowing that she could touch him, kiss him all she liked and it was all-right, because they belonged to one another. They blurred into one in this creaky bed in a small flat in Dublin with its awful wallpaper but with a fireplace they loved to sit and read by in the evenings. 

He began to kiss her, and the back of her throat began to hum, and his hands traced the curves of her stomach and legs until they were under the duvet. The soft dim of the light sifted through as he murmured to her how beautiful she was, and she drank in the heat of his body and kissed the hollow of his throat and traced the route of his jaw with her lips. And between them a warm golden ball of light, thrumming.

“I’m scared.” She whispered after, his arms wrapped around her (around them).

He kissed the back of her neck. “We’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ll be wonderful. And we’ll get by. We always do.”

She smiled a little to herself and turned round to face him. “If it’s a girl we have to promise to have her change the world.”

He bent down and kissed her stomach and she shivered, her body coiling again.

“She’ll be like her Mother, then.” He said deeply, his voice hoarse with half-adoration and half-longing for her.

“I hardly changed the world.”

“You married me.” He said, kissing her again. “You work.” He kissed her again, getting higher until he got to her breastbone, making her giggle all the way as she tried her best not to feel shy. “I’d say you’re changing the world.”

“I want her to live in a good world.” She said, before looking up at the ceiling. “But I worry, sometimes.”

“She’ll have us.” He said, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“But what about the world outside?”

“You worry too much.” He said, resting his head on her belly. Her hand began to run through his hair, twirling it into curls. “She worries too much, doesn’t she?”

“Tom…”

“Wait, yes…Yes, the baby agrees.” He said, looking up at her. But then he noted her mood, that shadow of self-doubt in her eyes, the one he recognised so often in the days before she allowed herself to love him. “Look… The world will always have horrible things in it…”

“But…”

“But we’ll do our best, won’t we? That’s all anyone can ask of us.”

She smiled a little, and admired his face from where it rested on her body, and she imagined the small body of their daughter or son between them at night after a nightmare or when the thunder began to rattle the windows. She would adore her Papa, of course, because he would spoil and adore her. Her Mama would be her confidante, her comrade in a world not quite ready for women like them. But it would be between them both where she would feel safest from the storm.

Their bodies moved together once again, sleepily, slowly. She shivered from his mouth and he tasted sweet summers spent by the seaside. Maybe tomorrow the fears would start anew, but for now her muscles slackened and the night was edging deep into their room.

“Tom?” She murmured, dizzy.

“Yes?”

“I’m not…” She yawned, settling down to sleep, “as frightened now.”

He held her and she (they) slept.


End file.
